


Funny Idea

by biboyhalo



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Idk what else to tag this lol, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Pining, but not that much of it, it's just a short piece to get myself into writing, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biboyhalo/pseuds/biboyhalo
Summary: Wilbur thinks it’s a funny idea to help trick thousands of people into believing that Dream and George met up. He thinks it’s less of a funny idea, when what follows is an identity crisis, a weird obsession and some new, confusing feelings.
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 30
Kudos: 429





	Funny Idea

**Author's Note:**

> my first mcyt fic! I'm surprised it's Georgebur ince I have like 3 dnf wips, but here you go! Hope you enjoy!  
> (edited while really tired and will probably re-edit sorry)

It seems like a funny idea at first.

Wilbur didn’t think much would happen after the stream in which he had Tommy talk to Dream for him. It was just a bit, something funny to make the chat go wild, something to make Tommy cringe. Dream played along especially good, which was appreciated, considering they didn't know each other that well.

The dm was unexpected, so were the following messages. But the opportunity was hilarious. So Wilbur agreed. What could go wrong?

It seems like a funny idea, still, when Wilbur can hear two people laughing from behind the corner. And when he awkwardly introduces himself to the guy in front of him that he never really spoke to, and a faceless voice on the phone, it doesn’t seem that bad either.

A whole day of walking around, being a third wheel to a friendship that’s obviously strong and close, a whole day of trying to fit into a dynamic that’s new and unknown. It’s awkward, awkward as hell at some points, but it’s still funny. It’s still a funny idea.

It’s quieter as George walks Wilbur to his apartment at the end of their meet up. Dream has hung up, leaving the two of them alone, and it’s immediately clear that this isn’t George’s strong point. Wilbur tries to keep the conversation up, but he’s only getting general responses and awkward laughter.

“This is me” Wilbur says as they arrive at his apartment building.

And he still thinks, _this was a funny idea_.

But then George smiles right at him, bright.

“It was nice to meet you. Today was cool.”

“Yeah” Wilbur replies, feeling short of breath “Hey, do you want to come in for some tea?” he asks and cringes internally right after. He doesn’t know why he asks. He doesn’t know why he feels breathless. He doesn’t know why he wants to trot through that field of awkwardness just to talk to George a little bit more.

George shifts from one leg to the other, then glances at his phone.

“I’ll have to go, actually. Umm, hopefully see you again?”

Wilbur nods. George leaves. Wilbur climbs up the stairs to his apartment, opens the door, then slides down it when he’s inside, ending up on the floor.

_Funny._

* * *

Okay, so maybe it was supposed to be a funny idea. At first. And it kind of was. Well, to a point. Having an identity crisis at 23 years of age is anything but funny to Wilbur.

It starts simple. A few more interactions with George, a few passed words on random streams. They seem to completely miss each other most of the time, especially as the storyline of the server stars getting more and more involved. George doesn’t bother. Wilbur puts his heart into it. They clash.

But still, _still,_ Wilbur yearns. Wilbur watches. Wilbur listens.

It becomes apparent, from the streams that he sees, from the interactions he witnesses, that George’s nervous tick is laughter. And god, does Wilbur want to make him laugh.

It’s not easy. George doesn’t branch out outside from the Dream Team all that much, so his only interactions at first are all after MCC, or in random calls with way too many people. He teases, he bothers him, trying not to show that the stupid persona he puts on, where he calls him Gogy and gushes about how cute he is, actually has a tiny bit of truth in it.

And at first George just ignores him, which only makes Wilbur’s obsession even worse. He tries to get him to react, jokes turning even mocking at times, feeling like he’s sometimes stepping over the line of what’s actually harassing, and what’s just some silly jokes.

It’s addicting, especially when George eases up, and finally, _finally_ sincerely laughs.

It’s thrilling, when over time it turns from ignoring, to laughing, to playing along, to _reciprocating._

And slowly, but surely, Wilbur falls.

* * *

Quackity’s stream ends and a few people linger in the call before saying their goodbyes. Wilbur is still hyped from the sheer amount of laughter he managed to get out of George today, so he stays. George stays too.

And then Quackity leaves. Then Dream. Then Karl. And then they’re alone.

"Wilbur?" George sounds unsure.

"Yeah?"

There's silence. Wilbur raises his eyebrow, suddenly nervous. Him and George don’t really talk with each other off stream. Especially not just the two of them.

“Actually, never mind”

“No, go on George. I’m curious, what could _the Gogy_ want from me” he makes sure to put an extra emphasis on the nickname, to ease his nervousness. He’s not sure how to act with George outside of the cameras. He’s not sure how to act with George in front of the cameras either, to be honest.

“I was wondering...” There’s a quiet sigh and Wilbur’s stomach drops. He’s listening to every sound intently. A soft hum of a computer, a click of a mouse, Wilbur’s own breath. “Could you help me tune my guitar?”

Wilbur feels mostly relief, although there is that unexplainable tinge of disappointment, too.

He opens his mouth to inform George in a snarky tone that he can easily find an app that will help him tune his guitar much more accurately than Wilbur could ever do through a Discord call, but he stops himself before any words can leave his throat.

The thing about George, that Wilbur got to learn, is that he doesn’t really… open up. And it’s not like Wilbur does, either, hiding behind sarcasm and mocking jokes, hiding behind song lyrics and music notes. Hiding, right in front of the camera.

He knows George hides, too. He knows George isn’t good at paying compliments, he knows George doesn’t express affection through words, he knows he’s a private person. He knows… way too much, considering how little they actually interact with each other. He couldn’t help it though, there was something, _something_ about George that kept Wilbur’s attention on him in every clip he saw, every livestream he watched that had George in it, even if just for a minute. It almost became a routine, hearing George’s voice and tuning in to everything he’s saying. Seeing George’s face and observing it for detail.

So Wilbur knows. He knows that this, George asking for his help with something he doesn’t even share that often, with something that George and him actually have in common, is big.

“Yeah man” he finds himself answering, even though he knows trying to tune guitar through Discord is a terrible fucking idea.

_It’s stupid_. He should just recommend George the app and leave.

George makes a soft sound, the one Wilbur has learned to recognise as the _George is smiling_ sound.

_Never mind_ , Wilbur thinks, _It’s definitely not stupid_.

It takes George only a minute to get his guitar out. It takes Wilbur way longer than that to calm the thrilled buzz in his body, the barely noticeable faster heartbeat.

_What is wrong with me_ Wilbur wonders as George starts strumming the first string, Wilbur carefully telling him when to stop turning the tuning keys, while comparing on his own guitar. _Why is he making me feel like this_ he asks himself, as George starts messing with him, pulling on random strings, asking ‘is this right?’ with the sound of laughter behind his words, getting louder when Wilbur sarcastically responds with ‘ah, yes, perfect’.

_Why do I want to…_

“Okay Gogy, play a C chord.” A strum of a perfectly tuned C chord sounds in his headset. A proud smile creeps on his face. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah!” George plays the chord again, changing it to a D and then to an A. They all sound perfect. Wilbur almost wishes they didn’t. “Well, thank you for your help Wilbur.”

“No problem”

“That sounds so much better, listen listen” he’s speaking faster as he strums random chords that don’t go together at all. It’s endearing. The grin on Wilbur’s face becomes even bigger, so much, that he has to mute himself quickly, as he starts giggling, at the pure _cuteness_ of this man.

God, what is happening to him.

George continues playing. Wilbur wants to say he hates him for it, but he most definitely only hates himself.

It didn’t feel like a goodbye yet, even though George wasn’t saying anything anymore, focused on slowly changing between chords. Wilbur should hang up and go back to work though. He knows George wouldn’t think anything if he just left.

He hovers over the ‘disconnect’ button for a moment.

Random chords slowly transition into a melody. Wilbur doesn’t know this song, but it sounds nice, slow strumming, with a few picking parts here and there. It echoes from a bit further than before, meaning George possibly moved away from his computer.

Wilbur switches back to the excel spreadsheet he was working on before the stream, small smile hiding in his features. It probably wouldn’t hurt to stay and listen for a bit.

The sounds continue smoothly as Wilbur gets his work done. It's easier with the background noise, at least that how Wilbur is willing to explain the light feeling in his chest and that almost giddy eagerness of his typing. It definitely helps that George is great with a guitar. It definitely doesn't help that Wilbur has to push away the thoughts of George's fingers dancing across the neck of the instrument almost constantly.

He recognises a few songs that George is playing along the way though. There's an Arctic Monkeys song Wilbur used to be obsessed with a few years ago, an acoustic version of a Joji song, and even the damn Wonderwall, which should be more cringy than endearing, but alas.

He almost thinks it's over when George pauses for longer this time, but the silence is replaced with a very familiar tune. Wilbur freezes fingers stuck to the keyboard, the space button making a row in his excel spreadsheet extend by accident. Is this...

Wilbur’s heart feels like it's beating at the top of his throat. There's no mistaking it. He knows this melody so personally, he's scrutinised it over and over again, before coming to a final conclusion, before sealing it all down with chords and lyrics written on a lined piece of paper in his notebook. George was playing “I’m in Love With an E-Girl”

“Is that my song?” Wilbur asks in a low voice after unmuting himself on discord. It stops abruptly, the strings making an unpleasant noise as George gasps with surprise.

“You’re still here?” he’s a bit startled, Wilbur can tell, but he doesn't seem to be weirded out. Which is good. It's not like Wilbur gave him anything to be weirded out about. Right?

“I was enjoying the background music. It helped with the work” He still feels lightheaded, heart reeling. “Is that my song?” he repeats.

“What are you working on?” George is close to the microphone again.

“Stop trying to distract me” Wilbur laughs leaning his chin on the hand propped on his desk. Of course. Of course he ignored the question, acting oblivious was his whole thing, after all. “I'm doing mine and Tommy's finances.” He’s not even trying to hide the amusement from his voice as he pushes again. “George. Is that my song you were playing?”

George chuckles softly, the last sound drawing out into an embarrassed groan.

“I don’t know. Is it?” The nervous giggle doesn't stop, even though he is clearly trying to be quiet.

“Can you play it again?” Wilbur asks instead. He’s staring intently at George’s icon in the call. The green circle around it appears again.

“What will I get in return?”

The buzz in his body is back, sending a wave of shivers with it. This is a dangerous game George is playing. Wilbur is balancing on the line between teasing and sincerity, knowing this may not end well if he falls on either side of it.

“What would you like, Gogy?” He lowers his voice and forgets to put the usual bite in the silly little nickname. It seemed to happen more and more often recently.

“Hmm….” George thinks for a second. “How about… Next time we meet up in real life you have to play your whole album for me.” And there it is again, the _George is smiling_ sound.

Wilbur wonders if his own grin is also this obvious.

“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting that answer. He didn’t even know George knew about his music. Yeah, he knew the one song, but it’s Wilbur’s most popular one. The album… the album is more personal. He talks about it less. It’s on a different Spotify channel for fuck’s sake. “Do you like it? Do you like my album?”

“No Wilbur, I learned how to play this song because I absolutely hate your music.” His voice drips with sarcasm but it’s also beautifully wrapped in mirth. Wilbur feels high on it.

“Oh, you love it” he reverts to his usual tactic but can’t force himself to use the mocking tone he usually does. “You do, you’re a fan, aren’t you Gogy? You’re a Wilbur stan now.”

“I don’t know about that…” George teases back, melting Wilbur more into the chair. He grips the side of his desk. _Ridiculous._ “Maybe I will be if I hear the songs live.”

“Well to hear them live you have to play for me first.” Wilbur’s voice drops even lower, and he’s hyper aware of it, but he still can’t help it. The fire in his stomach roars and the longing in his chest makes him want to stretch this interaction as much as he can. Just him and George.

George’s nervous laughter eases him from it, but just a bit.

“Okay.” Wilbur can here some shuffling and then the unmistakeable sound of arranging your fingers along the strings. “Okay. You ready?”

“I’m ready.” Wilbur leans back.

“Okay.” Some more noises from fingers sliding on strings. “I’m gonna do it.”

Wilbur holds his breath. Nothing happens. Wilbur raises an eyebrow.

„Well?”

„Shut up” George replies and Wilbur can’t help but laugh. George is nervous, which is both amusing and exciting. And also a tiny bit cute, but Wilbur refuses to use that word to describe a 23 year old man. “Okay. I’m doing it.”

He still has to wait a minute or so, but this time he’s being patient.

And oh, is he rewarded.

George plays a different song this time, and at first Wilbur is too taken aback to realise, but as the picking part starts, he recognises it. It’s still his song, just not the one he was expecting. George is playing Saline Solution, which is one thing, but he’s also _humming_ along to the melody.

Wilbur adjusts his headset, setting the volume louder. George is still humming where words should be, quietly. Wilbur wishes he could see him. He wishes he could see the fingers strumming, the expression on George’s face. Is he smiling? Are his eyes open or closed? Maybe he’s looking at the guitar, making sure he doesn’t make any mistakes. Maybe-

“ _I think this time I’m dying. I think this time I’m dying.”_

He sings softly, quietly, as barely even making any sounds It ends after that, just those two lines at the end of the first verse. It seems like it embarrasses him, Wilbur hearing him put his guitar down before he could even finish the song.

“Okay, that’s enough.” George states.

Wilbur’s heart is racing.

“I like your voice” he says. “You should sing more.”

George laughs again. Nervous, he really seems _nervous_. Wilbur wonders what usually makes him calm down. Maybe silence? A cup of tea? Fingers running through his hair? He wishes he could provide it all.

“Maybe I’ll sing more when you keep your promise.”

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.” He replies without hesitation. “We should meet up soon”

A deep breath. A chuckle. “Talk to you later, Wilbur” And then he’s gone.

Wilbur is truly and utterly fucked.

* * *

Wilbur sends George a meme. George sends back a ‘:]’. Wilbur dies a little inside.

* * *

It takes him a little over a month to finally convince George to meet up again. They win MCC, together, and the pure endorphins make him suggest another meetup. The thrill of George’s reaction makes him follow it with a private message on discord. “Let’s actually meet up soon”

“You’re even taller than I remember” George greats him as Wilbur exits the tube station.

“You’re still as short as you were last time” Wilbur approaches George, hands in his pockets squeezing, itching with an urge to just mess up George’s hair as a welcome. They’re both wearing face masks, but he hopes George can still tell that he’s smiling. He knows George is, his eyes in shape of crescents, looking up right into Wilbur’s.

Does he know what he’s doing to him? Does George know that with every second of attention he gives him, Wilbur just falls deeper and deeper?

“So, which way to your office?” George asks innocently, unaware of the turmoil in Wilbur’s mind.

“Just right through here”

George is overall livelier this time than he did when they first met. He’s talking more, pointing out the most random things to Wilbur, like a broken clock on a building, or every dog they come across. He keeps giggling at Wilbur’s ironic comments back, and he almost seems… nervous. Wilbur isn’t sure if he’s imagining things, or if George actually keeps on glancing at him and then looking away as soon as they make eye contact.

It doesn’t matter. He’s going to dwell on it either way.

Wilbur opens the door to his office, a grimace pulling on his face as usual. Dark and cramped. He takes his mask off and shoves it in his pocket.

“So, this is the famous office, huh?” George looks around the small room with interest, unzipping his jacket. There’s not much to look at. A setup, a clock, two chairs, a desk. Not even a bloody window. And yet George takes in every detail slowly, as he hangs his coat on one of the hangers.

“The very same.” Wilbur confirms, a subtle smile sneaking into his expression. He turns his computer on, the sound of the inside fans familiar in an almost welcoming way. So many mixed emotions about one room.

“It’s weird seeing it from this angle” George comes up to the back wall, standing on his tip toes as he looks at Wilbur’s clock. “It’s the famous clock”

“Are you going to call everything here ‘famous’?” Wilbur asks in a badgering tone, turning back to his computer to start setting up the stream.

George snorts, sounding closer now.

“Well, you’re famous. So, by association, so is this office and the clock.” He pulls up a chair from the side of the desk and sits by the computer, making sure to leave space for Wilbur. "This chair is also famous"

“You’re famous too” Wilbur retaliates “More famous than me, even.”

“I’d say we’re on the same level.”

Wilbur licks his lips, drowning in the low tone of George’s response. It hasn’t even been that long in George’s presence, yet Wilbur already feels drunk with it. Every shift of George’s hand, every pitch change in his speech, every softly exhaled breath, he wanted to know them all. He wanted to experience them all.

He turns the camera on, the image of them both coming up on the screen.

George doesn’t have his mask on anymore, and even through the monitor he looks great. Wilbur looks to the side, taking in George’s face all over again.

Who needs windows, when George’s smile can bright up the room, just like that?

“Are we starting? Should I get out of the way of the camera?”

“Yeah, just for the beginning”

George slides away as Wilbur presses ‘go live’.

It doesn’t take long for people to start rolling in, as he welcomes them to the stream. They can already see the title, 'If We Laugh The Stream Ends', so the chat is full of questions about who is ‘we’. Wilbur takes his time saying hello and explaining the purpose of the stream, ignoring the chat’s curious demands.

“But today I have a special guest with me.” He looks to the side from where George is observing him. His chin is leaning on his palm, just looking, yet it’s enough to make Wilbur’s throat dry. “Why don’t you say hello, special guest?”

“Oh, I’m a _special_ guest? What an honour” George says off camera, making a few people freak out already, before sliding his chair next to Wilbur. “Hello chat” He waves.

The chat, like Wilbur predicted, goes crazy. It’s full of ‘Gogy’ and key-smashes, and entirely in capslock.

“It’s Gogy everyone!” He makes a loud, whooping noise, clapping his hands. George laughs, looking around the office.

“Aren’t you being too loud?”

“Don’t worry Gog, we can be as loud as we want” he winks, he _bloody winks_ , before thinking about what he’s doing. He knows it’s the combination of being on camera, and also being alone in a room with George for the first time. It clashed, somehow alone but with 80 thousand people watching them. Exhilarating. Nerve-wracking.

George huffs out a laugh and turns away, facing the monitors. Wilbur feels high on the response.

The first videos start rolling in, and Wilbur manages to keep all his laughter in. It’s quite easy, honestly, a few repeated memes, some animations, and of course, _of course_ , a DreamNotFound moment. He honestly should have expected it, just as the way the chat goes crazy at it.

The thing is, George is not laughing. He hasn’t laughed once, only a smile on his face and some occasional voiced confusion at the more abstract memes. Wilbur, however, lost most of his lives throughout the hour. George’s presence in the room made him giddier, more susceptible to fall into the stupid, stupid humour of the short videos. Every time he did, George raised an eyebrow at him with a quiet ‘Really? This?’.

Wilbur didn’t care, when he could feel George’s eyes on him every time he laughed. He didn’t care, as George’s gaze was filled with amusement when Wilbur lost his last life because of a _vine_ of all things.

“How are you so good at this?”

“It’s easy. Just don’t laugh” George rolls his eyes and Wilbur almost laughs there and then.

“Ok, chat, let’s do a challenge.” He decides suddenly, as he points at the camera and then at George. “We will watch 10 more videos. If George doesn’t laugh, I get him 100 gifted subs.”

“Oh, I like that” George moves forward in the chair, focusing on the screen. “What happens if I lose?”

Wilbur squeezes his own hand, fingernails dug into the inside of his palm. He lets go.

“If you laugh, you have to go on that cake date with me” his heart is beating so hard it feels like his own voice feedbacks to him from behind a glass.

“Hmmm…” George tilts his head to the side. “I don’t know about that, doesn’t seem like a fair deal. You’re saying a date with me is worth about the same as a 100 subs?”

The only unfair thing is the way George is looking at him. A hint of teasing, some humour. Maybe a tad bit of anxiety, but that just came with social interaction.

“Well, obviously, a date with Gogy himself is priceless” he has to glance at chat again not to lose himself in analysing every expression on George’s pretty, pretty face. “But you seem pretty confident in not losing.”

“Because I’m not going to lose”

“Then it doesn’t matter that it’s unfair.” The chat is mostly filled with ‘deffo flerting’ and Wilbur’s pride emotes. Ironic. He glances back at George. “If you know you’re going to win then it’s easy 100 subs for you.”

George sighs, lips pursed.

“Okay then chat” he turns back to Wilbur’s monitor. “show me what you got. Let’s get those 100 subs”

Wilbur’s hand is shaking as he resumes the videos.

They’re shit. All of them. It’s all things he’s seen before, or just genuinely unfunny crap. George doesn’t budge. Not during the first one, the fourth one, or the eighth one. Somehow though, Wilbur doesn’t mind that his wallet will be £500 lighter.

The last video shows up on screen and Wilbur already knows it’s a fail. He has seen this video a million times before, and frankly, was a bit surprised it didn’t show up until now.

The short video plays. The man on the screen says ‘Cheeto’.

George snorts out a short laugh.

They both pause for a second, before Wilbur breaks out into excited shouts.

“You laughed! You laughed at ‘Cheeto’!”

“That doesn’t count!” George retaliates but the laughter is still in his features.

“How doesn’t it count? You laughed! Chat, he laughed, right?” He glances at the words flying by, the ‘HE LAUGHED’ ‘GOGY’ and ‘LOST’. “See, they all agree!”

George sighs and hides his face in his hands. When he reveals it again, he’s smiling.

“I guess I’m not getting the 100 subs then.” He drags the words in an annoyed manner, in the true George fashion. Wilbur doesn’t know how he can find this attitude attractive, but it is, George’s fake annoyance, the clearly ironic overconfidence, everything about the man seemed to pull Wilbur in one way or another.

“Looks like we’re going on a date” one look at chat tells him they definitely didn’t forget. “Everyone is spamming ‘Georgebur date’. Yes guys, get it trending. Vlog 2 coming soon”

“You’re so stupid” George giggles, leaning forward in his chair, hands tucked under thighs. Again, Wilbur has to remind himself, that maybe calling a 24-year-old ‘cute’ shouldn’t come to him that easy. “You better pay for everything or else you’re gonna be stood up”

“I will” Is all he manages to squeeze out before focusing his attention on the camera, farewell words slowly leaving him.

The stream ends.

“That was fun” George says as soon as the computer is turned off. “Are you going home now?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur takes his coat avoiding eye contact. In the moment it seemed thrilling, to jokingly ask George for a date. But now the cameras are off, the audience is not there, and they are truly alone again. And Wilbur is scared, he’s scared that George will be able to _see_ that maybe, maybe the date bit wasn’t a joke. Maybe Wilbur actually wants…

“Let me walk you home then. Like last time” There’s no tease behind this smile. Just George’s eyes looking up at him. He almost pouts when George puts the face mask on.

“What a gentleman” he answers and revels in the eye roll he gets in return.

It’s cold, like it would be in the middle of winter in London. There’s fog forming in the air every time they exchange words, lifting and mixing together, like Wilbur wishes their breaths could. The walk isn’t that long, it’s only a few subway stops away from the office, at most half an hour of walking, yet still, it feels way too short for Wilbur. He’s addicted to George’s small remarks, his stupid comments and _that laughter._

They stop outside of the entrance to Wilbur’s apartment building when he gets to hear the laugh again, as George looks at his phone.

“Have you seen Dream’s tweet?” he asks.

Wilbur never wanted to stoop to the level of being irritated at Dream’s mention, he never wanted to be jealous, but he couldn’t help it. He sometimes lied in his bed, thinking, what if, what if they’re something to each other. What if the reason Dream and George are so close is because there’s something there. He dwelled on it and pushed it away at the same pace. It didn’t seem to let him go.

“No.”

George types something furiously, not noticing the change in Wilbur’s attitude. Maybe it’s for the better. He hates that he’s envious of _Dream_ of all people.

His phone makes a noise just as George puts his own down. George raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a notification for my tweet?”

“Maybe” Wilbur unlocks his phone with a few taps, clicking on the twitter notification.

The original tweet is by Dream. It says ‘George left me for a British musician…’. George’s reply says ‘Two inches really makes a difference…’

Wilbur blinks. Then he glances at George then at the tweet again.

“You-” he can’t help the wheeze that escapes him. “What do you _mean?”_

“What?” George is visibly confused at his amusement. “You’re 6’5 and Dream is 6’3”

Wilbur laughs even harder at the absolute hilarity of this. The replies are already full of people interpreting the comment in different ways. He decides to just reply the blushing face emoji, as he still catches his breath.

“George, read your tweet again.”

George sends him a mildly annoyed look, looking at his phone. It takes him only a couple of seconds to finally get it.

“Oh my god. That’s obviously not-” he starts furiously tapping on his screen, before Wilbur gets another notification This time it’s a reply to him, a ‘I MEAN HEIGHT’ in all caps. Wilbur folds again, not minding if the neighbours can hear his loud cackle.

“You say the weirdest shit sometimes, George”

George shifts his weight from one leg to another, a pout on his lips.

“Why are you so mean to me all the time?” he asks, voice low, no actual anger behind it. It’s teasing, a smile playing on his lips. It’s sounds almost _flirtatious,_ with George looking up at him, eyes curious.

And he could reply with another teasing comment. He could, but----

“Do you want the real answer?” his laughter dies down; his body is full of endorphins. He doesn’t know where he gets the courage. Is it even courage? Or is it just sheer stupidity?

George frowns, smile turning confused. He nods.

Wilbur takes a deep breath.

“When I was younger, I always used to be a little bit meaner to the girls I liked.” Even the first words are hard to push through, but he persists. “Just a tad more sarcastic.” The words fall out one after another “I tend to show interest through, as you phrased it, being mean.” He chuckles nervously looking down at their shoes. He doesn’t dare to move his gaze, transfixed. “I guess old habits die hard. Although seven-year-old me would be very confused that you don’t have ponytails that I can tug on.”” He murmurs. He wonders how much of it George understands, how much is he revealing right now.

George is silent, so he musters up courage to look up.

His expression doesn’t tell him much, the damn mask covering over half of his features. All he can see is George looking at him with wide eyes, blinking.

The pause stretches. Wilbur’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach.

“Anyways, uh, it was nice seeing you again!” He puts way too much faked enthusiasm in the sentence trying to compensate for the tremor in his voice. He reaches for his keys and turns around to open the front door.

The key goes in after two shaky attempts. It twists. Wilbur pushes the doorknob down.

“I know how to tune a guitar.” George sputters out.

Wilbur freezes, the door handle cold in his palm. It’s his turn to look taken a back, eyes focused on George, confused.

“I have known how to tune a guitar since I was like, 16.” George is quiet, a hand wrapped around his own arm, trying his best to keep eye-contact. “And I also knew you were still in the discord call when I played your song.” George takes a step closer. Wilbur’s stomach flips. “I also didn’t find Cheeto funny at all. And I’m really surprised nobody noticed how fake my laugh was.”

He’s falling. He’s standing still but he’s falling, he can feel it. Harder and harder, trying to make sense of George’s words, trying too much to reveal their meaning.

Because surely he doesn’t- Does he know that he’s implying-

“Do you want to come in. for some tea?” Wilbur asks at an impulse, just like the last time.

Except this time George smiles brightly as a response.

“Yes. I think you still owe me a free concert, Will.”

Wilbur’s heart is beating hard as he lets George into his apartment. It’s almost deafening when he opens the door to his room, thankfully not running into any of his flatmates on the way. It’s almost unbearable when George takes a seat on his bed, glancing curiously around.

“Your room is nice.”

Wilbur swallows.

“Thanks. How do you take your tea?”

“Milk, one sugar”

He makes his way to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, while his mind races.

George can tune a guitar. That’s what he said. That was his response to Wilbur implying he’s interested in him. He still remembers the way George hesitated when he asked him for help with tuning through discord. Does that mean he just wanted an excuse? Excuse to talk to Wilbur? Excuse to show him that he knows how to play his song? And what about earlier today? Did him laughing on purpose meant that he wanted the date?

But did any of that even meant anything? Wilbur sighs and grips his hands on the corner of the counter. Stupid.

The water boils just in time to distract him.

He makes two cups of tea and stares at them. One sweet and milky, other black, no sugar. Even the way they make their tea is different.

He makes his way back, opening the door to his bedroom with his elbow.

George is still sat on the bed, but this time there’s a guitar on his lap. Wilbur’s guitar, one of them. He’s strumming lightly on the strings, head popping up only to send Wilbur a smile, then looking back down at the instrument.

Wilbur can feel his heart squeeze in his chest. George looks like he fits right in his bedroom, like he has always belonged on Wilbur’s bed with Wilbur’s guitar in his arms. The sounds strum softly as Wilbur puts the two cups on the bedside table and sits himself next to George.

“Are you going to sing for me?” Wilbur asks quietly, leaning back on his arms.

“I might.” A few more random strums. “Or maybe I could do it after our date?” he glances up, bottom lip between his teeth.

“Our date” Wilbur repeats in one breath, taken aback by the sudden comment. Even though technically he shouldn’t be.

“Umm…” George puts the guitar down, expression turning uncertain. “That is, if you still want to call it- Sorry, umm, I think I... misunderstood. It was clearly a joke, I-”

“N-no!” Wilbur panics as soon as he realises that George completely mistook his response. “It wasn’t a joke. I want to.”

George blinks a few times, timid slowly shifting into fond.

“And… You’re not, you know… Confused, anymore? About the fact that, as you phrased it, I don’t have pony tails you can tug on?” he tries for some humour in the question, but Wilbur can see it’s genuine.

“No.” He was before, he was confused about attraction to men, but only for a short time. It couldn’t be long, he couldn’t deny it for long when all he could think about was George. “I know what I want.”

“And what do you want?” George’s eyes sparkle, traveling on his face, so Wilbur does the same. He studies George’s face for a second, lingering on George’s lips. _What do you want_ George asked, having the audacity to be exactly that.

George’s eyes end up on Wilbur’s lips too.

And Wilbur, who has been falling for so long, finally crashes.

“You” he leans down, not thinking at all, as he presses his lips against George’s.

It’s brief, but it still manages to knock his breath away.

George kisses back, slowly, only a few moves before they both pull away, yet the echo of the touch keeps repeating in Wilbur’s head. They kissed. They kissed. _They kissed._

“I’m pretty sure this should happen after a date, and not before it.” George is smirking, of course he is, but there’s also a pretty blush on his cheeks and a hitch in his breath. It’s thanks to him. All thanks to one kiss.

“I’ll kiss you after the date too.”

George puts his hand on the back of Wilbur’s neck.

“You better” he mumbles, before moving back up, kissing Wilbur again, longer, taking his time to slowly pull Wilbur apart.

Maybe the vlog, Wilbur thinks, was a good idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on tumblr with the url biboyhalo :)


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